


He Was Made Of Galaxies

by drxpdead



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Aromantic Dan, Writer Phil, stories, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drxpdead/pseuds/drxpdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes were the stars that crowded the night sky. His hands held the secrets of all the universe, his fingers bleeding different worlds. And his smile was the sun. </p><p>Dan is aromantic and Phil likes to write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Was Made Of Galaxies

The journal was sitting on the chair beside him, an almost offending item that seemed to taunt him. If he had been a worse person, he would have long ago picked it up and carelessly flipped through the pages, but Dan Howell prided himself in not sticking his nose in places it didn't belong. This was someone else's possession, that they were probably looking for right at this moment. 

It certainly looked like it would be dearly missed. The spine of it was creased, from continuous opening of its pages, and the pages themselves looked worn and used, in the most loving way possible. Sheets of coloured paper stuck out of it messily, covered in untidy handwriting from what Dan could see, and little drawings. 

He should at least pick it up. Right? If he left it there, sitting in the middle of this busy coffee shop like it had been before, surely someone else would take it into their greedy hands. And they probably wouldn't be at all caring about it. He wouldn't look inside of it at all, just set it next to him and hope that its owner would come and claim it before Dan left. 

So he picks the journal up carefully, placing it next to his laptop and fighting the curiosity that was pushing at his mind. He would not open it, it was against the rules of being a decent human being. And he goes back to his own business, checking a few emails and responding to one from his boss, trying to make himself busy.

He isn't the kind of person who usually hangs out in places like this, or anywhere in public, unless he was forced to. His small apartment was good enough for him to spend most of his time in, and he felt it completely unnecessary to venture out into the unknown and sometimes very confusing streets that were the city of London. But sometimes he got lonely, and he had found a small comfort in being surrounded by these strangers, who gave the sense of being around him without actually interacting with him in a way that was sure to end with him a stuttering, blushing mess and them probably leaving him on his own once again. No, he was better off by himself.

But Dan is nowhere near the idea of being antisocial. He doesn't prefer being alone, he doesn't enjoy the fact that he can't start a conversation to save his life. It is more often than not that he finds himself actually thinking what his life would be like if he wasn't such a recluse. If he had witty comebacks to a group of imaginary friend's jokes, if he could casually walk up to a stranger and maybe find some common interests to start an unlikely friendship. But he is left alone with his nerves and the always present cloud of self doubt in the back of his mind that pulls him away from people without him even noticing. This has been his life for so long, and he is familiar with it. He saw no point in changing it anytime soon.

The shop wasn't very noisy or even that crowded, it being the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday, so it was perfectly reasonable for him to jump about three feet in the air when the door (which he just happened to be sitting next to) slams open. He barely has a second to calm his racing heart, when the guy who had walked through the door trips over his own shoes and nearly  falls onto Dan's table. But he doesn't seem to care about the almost fatal accident that could have occurred.

"Have you seen a journal here?" He asks frantically, grasping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turn white. "It's not that big, might look look a bit old? I left it here, or I think I did, I can't remember, but I was writing in it here, and now I can't find it."

Dan points to the book beside his computer. "That one?" He asks carefully.

"Oh shit," the guy says in relief, reaching for the journal eagerly. "I was gonna lose my mind, I thought it was gone forever. Thank you."

"You're welcome, I guess," Dan says with a shrug. "I didn't want anyone else taking it or something, figured I'd wait to see if someone came back for it."

Uninvited, but not entirely unwanted, the guy sits down across from him. "Seriously, I can't thank you enough, this thing is so important to me. Can I...can I buy you a drink or something? Pay you back?"

"Oh," Dan shakes his head. "No, it's fine, really, it wasn't much trouble. You don't have to pay me back."

"I'm Phil," he says, and hold out his hand. Dan shakes it.

"Dan. Nice to meet you, I suppose," he laughs. "So. Can I ask why it's so important to you? I didn't look through it or anything, promise. Just curious."

"Nothing much, I guess," Phil says, flipping through the pages absent-mindedly. "Some stuff I'm working on, ideas and short stories and stuff. Not too important to some people, but I'd hate to lose it all just because I left it lying around somewhere."

"You're a writer?"

Phil bites his lip. "Recreationally, most of the time. Just...I get a lot of weird ideas? And they stay all copped up in my head, and I never had a way to get them out, except when I was writing. Silly stories and stuff, nothing serious."

"Sounds cool," Dan says. "We need more creative people in this world."

Phil smiles at him, and nods, and Dan can see the before tense set of shoulders relax. "That, I can agree with."

He doesn't know how it happens, but they talk for a while, as if they've known each other for a lot longer than an hour. Dan doesn't even notice when it starts to get dark out, because Phil keeps telling him story after story about his writing and about his family and University, and he's enjoying himself too much. 

But then Phil's phone starts ringing, and Dan realizes it's 10 after six and that he's wasted too much time in this coffee shop with with a guy he barely knows.

And that isn't like him at all, but he must admit it wasn't a bad experience.

***

He doesn't think he's ever been so intrigued by someone before.

Phil is messy and unorganized, and it's rare when he shows up to anything on time. He always had pen marks on his hands and circles under his eyes from staying up late every other night. He is so far from being perfect, and Dan thinks it's the best thing about him. 

But his words.

His writing is such a contrast to his impressions, painting such clear pictures in Dan's mind, and he's always left breathless after reading them. He's never read stories as mind blowing as Phil's, and he's glad he's gotten the chance to experience something so beautiful.

"This is crazy," Dan says quietly, scanning the pages in front of him for the third time, and the words still leave goosebumps on his arms. "How do you come up with these ideas? Your thought process must be out of this world."

Phil laughs shyly, his eyes fixed in the table in front of him. He's not used to being complimented so much, Dan had learned. "Imagination can go a long way," he murmurs.

They've been regularly frequenting the shop where they had met, because Phil claimed it was his most effective personality generator. "Watching people is a writers guide to creating characters," he had said. And Dan liked hanging out with him, didn't mind enduring the public if it meant he could talk to him for a little while.

Dan set the papers down. "Have you ever thought about trying to get published or something?" He asks. Phil laughs at that, and shakes head.

"No, I, um..." he shrugs. "I don't think I'm that good."

"Bullshit," Dan says. "Seriously, Phil, you're an amazing writer, people would love your stuff."

Phil flushes at his words. "I mean, it's not just about people liking my stuff," he says, reaching out to grab the papers off the table and shuffling them nervously. "There's....the stress of deadlines and getting stuff done on time, and all kinds of business stuff that I can't even begin to understand. I don't think I'd be able to keep up with it all."

Dan leans back in his seat, giving Phil a curious look. "You wouldn't even want to try?" He asks. "I bet you could change lives."

"Yeah?" Phil says sarcastically. "Lives, really? I could be one of those inspirational authors, the ones who make people question life."

"Yes, people need you, Phil."

He grins and shakes his head. "Honestly, I'm fine just writing for you right now."

Dan smiles at him, feeling a bit to proud at those words, and they sit in silence for a moment before Phil's phone makes a sound, announcing he had a text.

"I actually have to go," Phil says, starting to stand from his seat. Dan follows. "I promised Peej I'd help him edit his newest project, he's waiting for me."

"Yeah, okay," Dan says. "See you later, then?"

"I'll walk you home," Phil says as they head to the door together. Dan starts to protest, saying he doesn't mind walking alone, but Phil cuts him off. "It's on my way, it's no trouble, really."

The wind tears through the warmth they had built up in the coffee shop as soon as they step outside, making Dan shiver and pull his jacket tighter around him. He should have brought gloves, his fingers are already growing numb.

"So. Any plans for the evening?" Phil asks as they walk. It's not too far, only a few blocks, but it would be awkward if they stayed silent the whole time. 

Dan laughs. "Not anything exciting," he admits. "Netflix binging, most likely. But I have to get up early tomorrow, anyway, so I can't stay up all night."

"Ah, something different for once," Phil says, and Dan shoves him jokingly.

"Shut up."

Phil giggles again, and as casual as can be, reaches out and tangles his fingers with Dan's.

Dan freezes for half a second, but doesn't pull away. It's not weird; in fact he's almost glad about it, because his hands aren't as cold anymore, but it's new. For them, at least.

He's held hands with people before. His mum, when he was younger, a friend in Year 4 who'd been scared at a sleepover, innocent situations like that. He didn't mind physical contact, thrived in it sometimes.

He just couldn't help feeling that it meant something more to Phil than it did to him.

***

There are a lot more complications as the weeks pass.

Dan would like to think that they grow a lot closer as friends, maybe even to the point of being best friends. He doesn't think he's ever had a best friend before, but if he had to choose someone, he would choose Phil.

He thinks that Phil is reading into it much deeper than he is, though.

He looks at Dan in a way that makes him squirm sometimes, and he touches him, casual brushes of the arm or sitting a bit too close, but the contact is intimate in a way that Dan doesn't understand much. He's not uncomfortable, but he could do without it.

And other people seem to notice.

They hang out a lot, much more than Dan can ever remember hanging out with someone, and people seem to mistake them for more than friends. It's flattering, but it's also  constant and annoying and Dan wishes they would lay off.

"Holy shit," Phil says breathlessly, flipping through the pages of a well worn book in awe. "I haven't read this in years."

"You're such a nerd," Dan teases, searching meticulously through a stack of CDs for a particular album.

"And you, don't appreciate fine art."

Dan laughs, but doesn't say anything in return.

They've been inside this shop for almost an hour now, because Phil has to search through every shelf, and study every book that catches his eye, and maybe find one or two that he wants to buy.

The shop is old and desolate, the kind of place that doesn't catch the attention of most at first glance. But Phil had seen it, and had dragged Dan in here with him. It was a mix between a book/music/other miscellaneous crap store, and it was cluttered and mismatched, but in a home-y that sort of comforted Dan. It was peaceful.

He grabs one of the CDs and stares at the front of it, before adding it to the small pile he's collected so far to buy. Some of this stuff is pretty cheap while still being in good shape.

"You're buying all of those?" Phil asks, staring at the pile in question with a raised eyebrow. Dan huffs.

"It's only seventeen, so far," he argues. "They're, like, a dollar, it's not like I'm buying a house."

Phil sets the book he's holding back on the shelf he'd found it and moves lower, examining the titles carefully. Dan can see the smirk that crosses his face, though, and scowls, shoving him with his foot gently.

"I'm gonna go buy these," Dan says, but Phil doesn't even acknowledge him. So he heads to the front counter, smiling at the middle aged lady standing behind it, and places the stack in front of him.

"That'll 18.63," she says after ringing him up. Dan pulls out a twenty and hands it to her. "You two make a good couple."

He freezes for a split second, before plastering a smile on his face that doesn't reach his eyes. "We're not, um..." he points vaguely in Phil's direction, where he's still pulling books from their shelves. "We're not dating. Just friends, really."

"Oh," the lady says in obvious shock. "I'm sorry. You just seem to work so well together, I thought-"

"It's fine, honest mistake," Dan says quickly, and grabs the bag with his purchases before heading back to where Phil is. "Are you done yet?" He asks.

"Yeah, just a second, let me buy these."

Dan waits outside while Phil pays for the books, and they both start walking. Phil constantly insists on walking him home, no matter how close they actually are to it, but Dan doesn't mind.

And he usually doesn't mind the fact that Phil still holds hands with him, has decided to think of it as a friendly gesture. But after what the lady from the shop said to him, it sort of makes him sick.

***

Dan wakes up at six o'clock in the morning, but not because he wants to, or because he even has to. Someone is pounding on his door relentlessly, making such a noise that Dan wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors end up complaining about it. He rolls out of bed reluctantly, grumbling as he makes his way to the door and opens it, glaring as Phil smiles at him from the other side.

"I'm actually going to kill you," Dan says, but stands aside to let him in anyway.

"Sorry," Phil says, stopping in his living room. "I'm sorry, I know I'm bothering you, I just have something really important to tell you."

"At six in the morning?"

"I was gonna wait till later, but I got too excited."

Dan barely refrains from smiling, because although he isn't in the best mood right now, that basically described Phil's personality in one sentence. "Fine, I guess I can let it slide," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's this important thing, then?"

Phil bit his lip. "Are you sure you're ready for me to tell you?"

"Oh my god, yes, I am," Dan groaned, rolling his eyes.

"One hundred percent sure?"

"Just tell me."

"I'm getting published."

The words hang between them for a few moments, the silence nearly defeaning as Dan's tired brain actually processes what he's been told. "Wait, are you being serious?"

Phil nods excitedly, his smile growing wider, and Dan grins with him, throwing his arms around his neck in a tight hug.

"Oh my god, that's amazing!" Dan shouts, forgetting entirely about his warm bed and being dragged out of it. "Seriously, holy shit, this is awesome. I knew you'd make it."

Phil pulls away from him slightly, his eyes shining with happiness. "Thank you. I mean, I probably wouldn't have ever done it if it weren't for you."

"Oh, come on," Dan argues. "I'm sure someone else would have convinced you at some point."

"No, seriously," Phil presses on. "You're the reason this is happening."

Dan's breath catches in his throat at the genuine sincerity in Phil's voice. It hasn't become uncomfortable yet, but he notices that they're barely an inch apart, arms still wrapped around each other, and their noses just brushing together. And then Phil seems to notice it too, because he exhales once, before leaning in and kissing him softly.

And it's at that moment that the entire thing is shattered.

Dan stumbles backwards out of his grip, touching his mouth with his fingertips and staring at Phil in shock. The ecstatic mood he'd been in just second before seconds before had completely dissappeared, leaving him cold and slightly naseous.

“I'm sorry,” Phil mutters, though he doesn't seem very convincing. “That was...I wasn't supposed to do that, was I?”

And god, even in the utmost disgusted mood that he's in right now, Dan wants to laugh. Phil is always so goddamn clueless about the things that happen around him, stuck in his own head full of imagination, and it's so intriguing when he comes back to reality, and realizes that something he's done isn't right. 

“You should leave,” Dan says, curling in on himself automatically.

“Wait, Dan,” Phil says desperately, taking a step forward, but Dan backs away further. “That was stupid of me, I didn't mean to-”

“Yes, you did,” Dan says, and this time he does laugh, but it's devoid of any sort of humor. “We've only known each other for a little while now, but I can see it. You like me.”

Phil shifts his gaze to the floor, but Dan can see he's blushing. “And you don't like me back?” he questions lowly.

“Not the way you want me to.”

“Was it something I did?” Phil asks, looking up at him again. “I'm...just not good enough, or-”

“No, it's not that,” Dan reassures firmly. “Look, I love being friends with you. You're great and I would hate for something like this to get between us. But I can't force myself to feel something I don't want.” Phil scrunches up his eyebrows, looking so obviously confused it's almost funny. “I'll never feel that way about anybody.”

And then Phil seems to understand. “Oh,” he says plainly.

“I'm sorry,” Dan says. “I know you wanted something more with us, and I couldn't give that to you.”

“Don't do that,” Phil says. “You don't have to apologize for that, I understand. I should've asked or something, instead of just assuming.”

“You couldn't have known,” Dan says. “Let's just forget about it, yeah?” Phil nods gratefully.

“I actually should go,” he says. “I have a meeting in like, half an hour, go over all the technical stuff I don't know about.”

“Congratulations, again,” Dan says, hugging him one more time, before he turns to leave. “I'm really proud of you.”

And as he shuts the door, heading to his room to most likely fall right back asleep again, he think about just how good he's got it with Phil.

***

Two weeks later, Dan finds an envelope taped to his front door.

It has his name written on the front, in Phil's handwriting, and inside there's a sheet of paper, covered in writing and little doddles. It's a story, a very short one, and Dan reads it as soon as he opens it.

And then reads it again, forgetting that he's standing in the hall in only his pyjamas where anyone can see him. He's got to be the luckiest person in the world to have someone like Phil as a friend. 

He heads back inside and grabs his phone, dialing Phil's number, still holding the paper in his hand.

“Did you get it?” Phil asks as soon as he picks up, and Dan smiles.

“Course I did, I couldn't have missed it,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Aw, you don't have to do that,” Phil says, and Dan can almost see the embarrassed flush he's most likely wearing. “Honestly, I had it in my head for a while. Woke up at three in the morning cause I had to put it into words, it was driving me crazy.”

“No one's ever done something like that for me.”

Phil laughs on the other end of the line. “Well, I guess I'm just the best, right?”

“I hate you,” Dan says gently.

“I hate you too.”

***

"There once was a boy who lived on a planet, which was scarcely bigger than himself.

More than anything in the world, this boy wished for company. He was lonely on his planet, and had no one with which to talk or play, and this made him sad, more sad than one could imagine. He grew up by himself, watching the sun rise and the sun set with no appreciation of the beauty that sun held. 

And then, on one these morose days, someone came. A girl who was the same age as him. 

The boy soon became happy once again, with his new found friend, and they would laugh and be either each other all day long. The girl showed him how exquisite the sun was, and the boy watched it rise and fall everyday with a newfound awe.

It was then that the boy found out he was different. He loved in a way that some did not understand, in a way that some did not like. He loved with his eyes, and the way they shined whenever the girl spoke. He loved with his hands, and the way they moved whenever he told stories. He loved with his head, and the way he appreciated the company of others with only the intent of making them as happy as possible.

But the girl loved him in a way that he was not familiar with, and did not enjoy, and so she left.

Many people came after the girl had gone, and the boy thrived in their attention. He had fun, and he was happy, until they left. They always left, because the boy could not love them the way they wanted to be loved.

He hated being this way, because it meant he lost everyone who made him happy. No one was willing to accept his love, because it was not good enough, no matter how hard he tried.

But then another boy came to the plane. And he stayed a long time.

The first boy was anxious all of the time, fearing that his friend would leave like the others had. The second boy loved him, in the same way as the ones before him, but the first boy said he did not feel the same way. He prepared himself for the other boys departure....but it never arrived.

The second boy claimed that his kind of love was enough, because he was happy just being with him. And the other boy was overjoyed.

He said that his eyes were the stars that crowded the night sky. That his hands held the secrets of all the universe, his fingers bleeding different worlds. And that his smile was the sun. 

He said he was made of galaxies."


End file.
